


Irrational

by somehowunbroken



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For hc_bingo: 'arachnophobia.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irrational

This, Teyla thinks as she surveys her situation, is irrational.

She is the leader of her people and a member of the military on Atlantis. She is respected by many, feared by some, and adored by her son, who thinks that she can do anything.

Teyla would never want to disabuse him of this notion, but she is currently sitting on top of her table, trying not to breathe too quickly, while Torren toddles happily around the room.

She has taken to leaving her radio on her bedstand when she is off-duty; there was a time when she would not have minded being called to arms at any and all hours, but she has a child to care for now, and she enjoys spending her free time with him. She cannot reach the radio now, though, and she wishes now that she had made a habit out of keeping it on.

“Torren,” she calls out, and he walks into the kitchen and giggles.

“Sitting on the table,” he singsongs giddily, looking up at her. “Mama, bad mama, sitting on the table!”

Teyla smiles at him thinly. She reprimands Torren’s honorary uncles for this very act often, and yet, here she is, setting a bad example for her own son. “Torren,” she says seriously. “Mama needs you to do a favor. A vary important, big-boy favor. Can you do that?”

Torren draws himself up, as tall as he can go, and it breaks Teyla’s heart to see how large her son has really become. “I help you, Mama,” he says, walking over to her, his face the very picture of seriousness. “What I do?”

Teyla smiles a little more broadly. “Do you know where my radio is?” she asks gently. Torren glances over his shoulder towards her bedroom. “I need you to bring it to me.”

“Okay,” he says decisively, almost marching from the room. He pauses at the doorway and peers carefully around it, ducking as he runs through the center of the living room. He flattens himself against the far wall and peers into Teyla’s bedroom. She smiles, watching him; it is a game that he plays with John and Evan, one of the men acting as Torren’s ally while the other behaved as some sort of monster. She will have to remember to tell them later.

Torren comes back shortly, holding the radio out to her, and Teyla slides it into place gratefully, thanking her son. He walks out of the room again, sliding along the wall and occasionally jumping out and shrieking for no apparent reason.

Teyla clicks on her earpiece and pauses, trying to decide who to summon, who would be the best person to help her in this situation. “Ronon?” she calls out finally, and Torren’s head peeks up in the other room. He adores Ronon.

“Teyla,” she hears back.

“Are you busy at the moment?” She is trying to keep the panic fro her voice as she focuses on the spot across the room that had caused her to crawl up on the table in the first place. It is moving closer.

“Not really,” Ronon says, pausing. “Need a hand?”

“If you do not mind,” Teyla replies graciously.

Ronon appears a few moments later and occupies himself with Torren for a minute, swooping down to pick up the tiny child and swing him around. Finally, he makes his way into the kitchen, where Teyla sits on the table.

“What’s up?” he asks, curiosity and concern in his voice. Teyla points to the wall, where a rather large spider is crawling up towards the ceiling.

“Gross,” Ronon comments, settling Torren in Teyla’s lap. “Plate and bowl?” he asks, and Teyla gestures to the cabinets, where he retrieves the items.

Ronon traps the spider and takes it away, returning a few minutes later with a soft cloth. He runs it under the water and rubs it on the bar of soap, silently scrubbing at the wall where the arachnid had been.

“Thank you,” Teyla says when he’s done, the relief almost palpable in the air. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Ronon replies, and hesitates. “You’re really afraid of them?”

She nods and feels the color rise in her cheeks. “Since I was small,” she confesses. “It only got worse as I grew older.”

Ronon lifts one shoulder. “I really hate big spaces,” he admits. “Where there’s no cover. Makes me feel like I’m too open, like I’m going to float away if there’s nothing to hold on to.”

He leaves, and Teyla treasures him a little more, both for his handling of her problem and for the information he’d entrusted to her.


End file.
